Page 20 of Corporate Escapades

“Holy crap!” screeched Paris. “Are we in hell?”

“My, oh my,” said Vic, with a whistle. “I didn’t know ADG owned such small and rundown-looking apartments.”

Mya followed Paris inside. It was a fully furnished studio. The only room inside the apartment was the bathroom, which had a dingy shower stall, pedestal sink, and toilet. Outside the bathroom was a closet with a built-in dresser and clothes hanging bar, as well as a small stacked washer and dryer that looked as if they’d seen better days. The place had to be roughly six-hundred square feet. A bed was next to a small discolored orange and brown paisley loveseat in the living room, which had a small entertainment center across from it. The television was a twenty-four-inch but appeared to have a slight crack in the upper right corner of the screen. Mya speculated it was probably because someone accidentally threw a gaming controller at it. A coffee table stood in front of the loveseat, and at the opposite end sat the kitchen, which held a small fridge, sink, microwave, and range. There were a few cabinets and shelves and a small pantry, but even then, there was barely room for the coffeemaker and toaster.

“I’ve been in larger and cleaner hotel rooms,” said Paris. “This place is a dump. Look at that ugly furniture.”

“Yep, me too,” commented Vic. “Here's hoping my place doesn't look as ugly as yours.”

Mya felt claustrophobic just looking at it, and it wasn’t even her place.

“This blows my mind,” said Chase. “I had no idea apartments could be this small.”

“Super,” said Paris. “How much does this place cost?”

Mya picked up a paper from the coffee table and looked it over. “It says your rent is eight-hundred-and-fifty per month. That includes utilities.”

“So, we have six-hundred-and-fifty dollars left to buy food and clothes?” replied Paris.

“Yup, that’s about right,” said Vic. “However, will you get by?”

“Vic, your apartment is directly next door,” said Chase.

Vic shook his head. “Of course, it is.”

“Here,” said Mya, handing him the key.

Chase followed Vic next door. Upon opening the door, they found that the only difference between Vic’s apartment and Paris’s was that they were flip-flopped regarding the location of each item, and they were different colors. Paris’s was orange, brown, and white, and his was navy, tan, and brown. A much better color palette. Walking to the window, he found he had a view of the park, which wasn’t half bad.

“It’s not terrible,” said Chase. “I mean, it could be worse. They could have cut you off completely and fired you without a chance at redemption.” Which, let’s be honest, he had truly hoped for after the year Vic had put him through.

“Dude, spare me,” he said. “If you really want to help, go get a bottle of Jack and let’s drink until I forget I live here.”

“Will do,” replied Chase. “I’ll order a pizza too.” Anything for a chance to witness his boss’s further agony.

“Good man,” said Vic. “Be sure to see if the girls need anything, won’t you?” He knew Chase disliked him, but he’d play his game if it meant getting his hands on some liquid happiness.

“Already on it,” he said as he left the room. Vic’s thoughtful request surprised Chase. He felt bad for Paris. Despite knowing Vic and she deserved what was coming to them, it would be a hard fall for anyone of their power and background. The pair had grown up in luxury, and tragedy had sent them spiraling out of control. Chase felt a twinge of sadness for them both.

That evening, Vic and Paris called a temporary truce. They sat with Chase and Mya, drinking Jack and Coke and sharing a Margherita pizza from their favorite Italian restaurant up the street. Chase brought chips and a deck of cards, and they played poker around the little coffee table in Vic’s apartment until eleven that night. Paris didn’t want to admit it, but that first night in their new apartments had been entertaining, until two in the morning.

At two that morning, Vic woke from a dead sleep to the sound of Paris screaming. Hurrying toward the sound, he pounded on her apartment door. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a bat!” she cried as she swung open the door. “It buzzed my head and woke me up.”

“I don’t see it,” he said. “Where is it?”

“I think it’s in the bathroom,” she replied as she crawled under the kitchen table.

“Okay, I’ll check it out,” said Vic. Flipping on the light, he agitated the bat, and it flew directly at him, which caused him to shriek like a little girl.

“Did you get it?” asked Paris, her voice quivering. She was terrified of all vermin.

“No, I didn’t get it! It flew back into the living room. Open the doors and windows!” he demanded. Walking back through the living room, he went to the kitchen to see what he could find. Grabbing a frying pan, he felt prepared to fight the winged demon.

“There it is,” said Paris, pointing toward a cabinet in the kitchen.

Vic approached the bat carefully. As he went to hit it with the frying pan, it took flight and flew out the window. Paris bouncedinto action, slamming it shut behind the winged menace. “Thank you!” she said, exhaling. “I didn’t know what to do.”

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